Chains to Angels
by WrenClayton
Summary: Dean's been in Hell for thirty years. He thinks it's the first day. Warnings: Gratuitous torture, rape, violent death, Stockholm Syndrome, graphic descriptions of pain, child torture and murder, mentions of child rape, super uncomfortable use of bugs, emotionally abusive relationship.
1. The Chains

He couldn't breathe.

Dean tried to gasp for air, lungs straining. There wasn't any air.

It took several seconds of raw, primal panic before some part of Dean remembered that he was dead. He'd stopped breathing a while ago.

Chains. That was all he could see - nebulous smoke and chains and an endless stretch of empty space. An aching chasm below him, with nothing but darkness and swirls of choking mist.

His body felt heavy.

Full.

Slowly, Dean registered the screaming pain in his shoulder, the wrenching jolts that shot down the bones of his arms and legs. _Chains. _There was a chain wrapped around each wrist and each ankle, digging into the skin. He couldn't see where the chains ended; they just trailed off into the darkness, as far as he could see. A pulse of something that Dean recognized as agony throbbed through him, and he realized that a meat hook as thick as a broom handle was impaling his shoulder, crunching clean through his shoulder blade, hooked under his collarbone. His mouth was full of something thick and wet and metallic, dripping red onto his chest, and now that he'd noticed the pain he couldn't ignore it again, it was like a screaming inferno getting closer and louder all the time, burning through his body -

Dean screamed the only thing that could come to mind, the only thing that could possibly help him.

"_SAM!_"

.

He didn't know how long it took him to twist his arm free. Only that the blood dripping from his mouth had poured in a little river down his bare chest and was soaking into his pants before he ripped his wrist free of the chains, losing some skin in the process. His whole body swung around as his hand slipped free, and he screamed when the hook in his shoulder jerked him to a stop, snapping his collarbone like a twig. For what felt like another eon, all he could do was hang there and shake in pain. There were tears joining the blood when Dean managed to wrench his first leg free, grabbing the nearest chain to support himself.

.

Dean hung in the darkness, freed from his restraints, clinging to the chains until his arms were shaking. There was nothing there, just the echoing silence of the void. No walls. No floor. Just chains and empty space.

Dean bit his lip, trying to hang on. Trying to figure out what his next move could possibly be. He couldn't see anything in any direction. _What if this is all Hell is? Just a void of chains? _He'd been expecting something along the lines of fire and brimstone, but... this was worse. No solid ground to stand on, just these chains dangling the false promise of support, something to cling to desperately to avoid plummeting into the abyss.

His arms hurt so badly. He just wanted to let go. The longer he hung there, the more appealing the idea became. What would happen if he fell? He couldn't die again. Was there a floor, somewhere down there? Would he land there? It was that, the thought of solid ground beneath his feet, even if he hit it going at terminal velocity, that made Dean's grip slack, and let the chains slip out of his hand.

.

The first chain that he hit caught him on the stomach, and if he'd had wind it would have been knocked out of him. The second one caught him between the legs. He grabbed onto the third, shaking, with tears leaking out through his squeezed-shut eyes. He thought he was going to be sick, but he wasn't even sure you _could _vomit in Hell. Another pulse of pain between his legs answered the question for him, and he spent the next ten minutes dry heaving, dead stomach trying to expel food it would never have.

When Dean's belly stopped lurching and he could almost fake-breathe evenly again, he looked around. He looked down. His surroundings looked exactly the same. He looked up, and there was no indication of where he had come from. No landmarks. No walls, no floor or ceiling. Just... chains.

Dean closed his eyes and bit his lip and started counting to one hundred. His hands were bleeding from grabbing the rough metal of the chains, and the muscles in his arms felt like they were on fire. When he got to one hundred, Dean let go again.

.

He didn't know how far he'd fallen. He knew that he was leaving a trail of blood on the chains he passed, and that a trail was stretching out below him as well, red drops dripping down into the abyss. A column of blood, forever up and down. Up and down were the only directions here. No, scratch that. There was only one direction, and it was down.

Dean's last fall had landed him on a place where two chains crossed: a sanctuary. Maybe he would be able to stay here for a full _two_ hundred seconds. Dean stared dully into space, mouthing the numbers silently as he counted.

"Hey!"

Dean paused in the middle of "twenty-six." For a minute he couldn't register what he'd just heard.

"You conscious over there?"

Dean looked up. There was a man hanging from a chain a dozen feet away. A human. A _landmark. _Dean had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn't just imagining it. Then he croaked out, "Yeah, I'm... mostly conscious."

The man gestured with his head. "Swing over this way, there's solid ground."

Dean's unbeating heart clenched. _Ground. _He swallowed hard. "Are... are you sure?"

"Yeah, just jumped off it myself."

Dean stammered out a breathless laugh, shifting his grip on the chains. "Why the _fuck _would you come from solid ground to _here_?"

"Trust me, worse things than the Chains are out here," the man replied. He glanced around. "Not a whole lot that'll follow you in here, though. It's a good way to shake stuff off."

"Can't imagine why," Dean grunted. Arms straining, he swung himself back and forth until he could make a grab for the next chain, hissing in pain as it scraped over his bleeding hands.

.

The ground turned out to be a spit of land, a peninsula in the sea of chains. When Dean's feet landed on it, he staggered and collapsed to the floor. It felt so _good _to be stationary, effortlessly stationary, that he let out a breathless laugh.

"Fucking hell," he panted. "I'm never gonna take the floor for granted again." A strong hand reached out towards him and Dean grabbed it, letting it pull him to his feet.

"So what's your name?" the man asked. He looked several years older than Dean, with a hardened body and a dusting of stubble.

"Dean." Dean gave the man's rough hand a firm squeeze. "And I can't thank you enough for getting me out of there."

"Wish I could say it was nice to meet you, Dean. Name's Al. We'd best not stick around, you don't want to meet what I was running from."


	2. The Sheds

The strip of land broadened as they walked, and far in the murky distance Dean could see that it widened into a plain. Dean's whole body hurt but he didn't care, it felt so good to be _walking._

"Forgive me if I'm out of line," he began, his feet crunching on the pebbly ground. "But, uh... what are you in for?"

Al's look darkened. "Made a deal, to save my baby girl. After her mother... she was all I had left." Al seemed to push the thought aside. "What about you?"

"Same as you." Dean's jaw clenched. "Sold my soul for family."

There was silence for a moment, and then Al managed a crooked smile. "Hey, what's a soul worth if you can't trade it for the people you love, right?"

It pulled a grim smile out of Dean. "Yeah... I guess you're right."

.

They finally were out of the Chains. It gave way to a dark landscape of twisted rock and weird, shelter-like structures. They were made of black wood and something leathery, and a mist hung around them.

Dean peered at them uneasily as they passed. "The hell are those things?"

"No clue," Al grunted, his voice hushed. "I just know that as long as I've been here, nothing's lived in 'em." He glanced around. "They give me the fuckin' creeps, but... they're everywhere and it's pretty much the only shelter you can find around here."

Dean shuddered. "I wouldn't go in one of those things if you paid me."

"Yeah, sure." Al snorted. "Would you go in one if it had been hanging with you in the Chains?"

Dean looked away. They both knew the answer to that.

.

Dean held his hand up, stopping Al.

"D'you hear that?"

They listened for a moment. Through the silence that crawled into his ears like a living thing, Dean could make out soft breathing. Sobbing.

"There's someone else here," he hissed. "Sounds like a kid." He marched up to the nearest dark, misty shed and peered in through the window.

"Dean, be fucking careful!" Al grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back, face pale. "Not everything that sounds like a scared kid around here actually is!"

Dean's jaw clenched. "Fine. We'll be careful. But I'm not gonna leave some kid alone here."

Al's expression softened for a moment. He nodded, letting his hand slide off of Dean's shoulder. "Hope there's someone like you up top who's willing to look out for my baby girl."

They poked around between the dark shacks, never straying far from each other. As Dean approached one of them, the sobs suddenly choked off.

Dean knelt down, trying to peer underneath a tattered black rag that hung over most of what he judged to be the door of the house. "Hey," he called softly, "anyone in there?"

There was no response, but Dean could hear scared breathing. Steeling himself, he reached out and carefully pulled the fabric aside. It pooled over his hand like silk, thin and slick. When he had pulled it aside, he stepped into the house, and if his heart hadn't already been motionless it would have stopped.

_Sammy. _No, no, Sammy was alive, up top, he couldn't be here in Hell. And... and get it together, Dean, Sam was in his twenties. This kid looked closer to twelve. Dean blinked at the boy that was cowering in the corner of the shack. No, it wasn't Sam, he could see that now. The messy brown hair and big hazel eyes had thrown him off for a moment. Not his Sam, just a scared kid.

The boy was staring at Dean with unadulterated terror. He was wearing a tattered pair of pants and nothing else, just like Dean and Al. _Guess they don't make shirts in Hell. _There was grime all over his face and chest, but there didn't seem to be any blood. Dean let out a breath of relief.

"Hey," he said gently, taking a step closer. "What's your name?"

The kid flinched back like Dean had pulled a knife on him. "D-don't hurt me!"

Dean held up his hands, freezing in his tracks. "Whoa, hey, I'm not here to hurt you. Just lost in Hell like you are."

The boy didn't look any more trusting. Dean sighed and kneeled down.

"You remind me of my little brother, you know?" he said softly, keeping his voice soft and soothing. "He looked just like you when he was a kid." He gave the boy a smile. "You know, he's a huge badass now. Probably tougher than me. I bet you're a huge badass too, just don't know it yet."

The boy swallowed, but his body was relaxing. Dean pressed on. "My name's Dean. What's yours?"

"Matty," the kid said quietly.

"Hi, Matty. You been here a while?"

Matty nodded, his big hazel eyes darting around the room. "Monsters won't come in here," he whispered, like it was a secret.

The knowledge sent a chill up Dean's spine.

"I can see why they don't," Matty continued. "I don't like it in here either. Feels kinda... "

"Yeah, super creepy." Dean tried to hide his unease, holding out a hand. "Come on, let's get out of here. No monsters outside."

Matty took his hand, letting Dean pull him to his feet.

They stepped out of the shack together. Matty kept clinging to Dean's hand. He squeezed it tighter when Al appeared from behind a shack.

"Hey, don't worry, kid," Dean soothed. "This here's Al, he's a badass like me."

Matty gave a shy wave. "I'm Matty."

"Hey, Matty," Al grunted. He was looking around anxiously. "Dean, if that's the only kid, we'd best get out of here. I... I don't trust these things."

Dean nodded. He had the same feeling.

.

Dean grunted as they walked, palming at his collarbone. There was a crust of blood around the wound where the meat hook had skewered him, but his clavicle seemed intact.

"Shoulder bothering you?" Al grunted, softly, so Matty didn't hear.

Dean let out a breath. "It should be, I heard the bone snap."

"Oh, that'll be Hell working its magic." Al gave a humorless snort. "If you start to fall apart too bad, the damn place stitches you up slowly. Keeps you walking around."

Dean gave this some thought. He glanced at Matty for a moment to make sure that the kid wasn't paying attention, and leaned closer to Al. "Al, can... Can we die here?"

Al shuddered. "Sorta." He stared up at the dark, smoky haze that hung low overhead, choking out any sort of sky. "If you get ripped up real bad... and I mean _real _bad, just a pile of meat on the floor... Hell kinda gives up and makes some new meat for you to live in. Drops it somewhere random, far as I can tell." The dead look in Al's eyes made Dean think that the man had experienced this more often than he'd care to admit. "After the excruciating pain is gone, there's this moment of darkness. Like being asleep. Then you wake up somewhere else."

_Sleep. _Dean's limbs felt like they were made of lead, and he wondered how long it had been since he'd truly rested. He eyed their surroundings uneasily. The terrain had become more rocky, strange and ghastly stone formations bubbling up out of the earth to form columns and weird, twisted shapes. But the dark, silent shacks were still everywhere.

"Speaking of sleep," Dean remarked, making Matty look up at him. "We oughta find some place to get shuteye."

Matty blinked at him in confusion. Al let out a tense breath.

"Fuck, you're a newbie," he grunted. "You still think Hell lets you sleep."


	3. The Hellhounds

Sleep or no, they sat down to get some rest by a twisted, towering rock formation. Matty sat close to Dean, pressed up against him. After a while, Dean put his arm around the kid and hugged him close. He hadn't been here long, but he already knew that any tiny comfort he could find was worth hanging on to.

"You been here a while, Matty?" he asked, staring up at the choking smog of the sky.

Matty nodded. He looked up at Dean. "What about you?"

"Nah, I just blew into town." Dean gave Matty a grin and squeezed his shoulder. "Maybe you can show me the ropes, huh?"

Matty managed to smile back at Dean, but it seemed a little sad. "You're... _really _new," he pointed out gently.

Dean gave Matty a belligerent frown. He was about to retort when a lonely, echoing howl sent a chill straight to his bones.

Al was on his feet in an instant. "Hellhounds," he hissed. "Fuck. We'd better get moving."

Dean stood up, pulling Matty to his feet and holding him close. The kid's face was pale. There was another howl, and Dean couldn't tell what direction it was coming from but it sounded _closer._

"Come on!" Al grabbed Dean's arm, yanking him forward. "If we can make it back to the Chains they won't follow us there!"

Dean nodded, stumbling into a run after Al, keeping his hand locked around Matty's arm.

.

_Ripping and tearing and shredding the skin off his chest, sinking deep, gushing, spurting blood, bending the goddamn ribs out of shape those claws were so strong -_

Dean's head felt light and achy and he did his best to run in a straight line. _Hellhounds. Barking. Coming. _From the panic he'd seen in the eyes of his companions, he had a feeling they'd all been dragged down the same way. The howls seemed to rise and fall in waves, one moment just a faint echo in the distance, the next... sometimes Dean swore he could feel hot breath on his neck.

The sound felt like it was closing around them like a noose, a snarling ring of hatred drawing ever tighter.

"Are you _sure _they won't follow us into the Chains?" Dean shouted. His heart was sore and aching with the need to pound, pump the blood that just sat in his dead body.

"Nothing else does!" Al grunted as he ran. "We should be okay if we can outrun them!"

Dean tightened his hand on Matty's as he ran. "Have you ever outrun a hellhound?"

"What do you fucking think?"

There was a howl, terrifyingly loud, coming from just a few feet away. Dean skittered to a stop on the dead, cold ground, almost falling off his feet, spinning around and trying to find the creature.

"Fuck... " Al was out of breath, lungs sucking in the emptiness of Hell in their old habit of trying to breathe. "Fuck, I hate these fucking things... "

Movement flickered in the corner of Dean's vision. His head whipped around and his throat clenched.

The hellhound growled softly, padding towards them on heavy, clawed paws. It shimmered and flickered before him like a mirage, dizzy and nauseating. He felt sick just looking at it, and not just because all he could think of was lying helpless on the floor and being ripped to pieces while Sam screamed for him -

It was Matty yanking his arm that brought Dean back to reality. He staggered for a moment before finding his feet and tearing off between the twisted rock formations after Al. He was actually relieved to glimpse one of the dark, misty sheds around the next pillar of stone.

"There!" Dean pointed, veering towards the shed and dragging Matty with him. Al was running by his side, face pale in the shadowy light of Hell. The howling was ringing in Dean's ears, aching and splitting, each savage bark like a strike across the face again and again and again and again, and worst of all those heavy footfalls, pounding, _pounding, _wet breathing just behind his back because _fuck _of course Hellhounds are built to breathe the _nothing _of Hell -

Al reached the shack first, ducking under the low door.

"Shit! Dean, wait - "

Dean barged in after him and the floor snapped under his feet. For a second there was nothing under Dean but crumbling rubble, then his shoulder hit the ground with a shattering crack. Dean coughed in the thick black dust, wrenching himself to his feet, looking up. That was when he realized that Matty's hand had slipped out of his grip when ancient floor gave out.

"_Dean!"_

Dean made a leap for the bottom of the doorframe, hoping to pull himself up, fucking fight the hellhounds off by hand if he had to, just get Matty away from them, but he fell inches short. "Matty!" he bellowed. "Jump down, kid, come on!"

There was snarling and ripping, and Matty shrieked. Dean's stomach lurched and he jumped again. "_Matty_!"

_Sammy!_

Dean spun around, searching the pit he had fallen into for anything he could use to stand on. Al was curled up on the ground, spitting curses.

Dean stepped over to him. "Boost me up, I gotta save him!"

"Do I fucking look like I can stand?" Al snarled. Dean's eyes wandered down to the leg that Al was clutching and his heart dropped when he saw the paleness of bone jutting out of it. He staggered back, staring up at the hole he'd fallen through.

"D-Dean, h-help me, please!"

Dean threw all of his effort into the next jump, shouting curses when he missed again. He staggered back until he hit a wall, sliding down it, covering his mouth and shaking when Matty's terrified cries kicked up into a noise of gut-wrenching agony. The sobs and the screams and the begging rang in his head worse than the barking of the hounds. And his _name, _that was the worst part, Matty kept screaming his name. Dean held his hands over his ears and whimpered, trying to shut out the cries and the wet noise of ripping meat.

He didn't know how long it took for Matty's screams to stop. He knew that at some point blood started dripping into the pit, and he had to stop covering his ears so he could clutch his heaving stomach.

.

" ... You did your best."

Dean stared dully at the opposite wall. His whole body ached. The choking silence of Hell was back, like a soothing pillow pressing harder and harder over his face. "My best wasn't fucking good enough," he rasped.

Al didn't have an answer to that. He'd managed to pull himself upright, but his leg was still bent at a sickening angle, and Dean could see that his knuckles were white with pain.

"It could have been worse," Al started. When Dean gave him a disbelieving look, he snorted. "Look, Dean, you're new here, so you're gonna have to trust me on this. Hellhounds are brutal, but what Matty got there is about the fastest death you can get in Hell. If we'd been chased by demons, they'd... " Al looked away darkly. " ... They would have kept him alive a _lot _longer. Demons would have done some nasty things to a kid like that."

Dean heaved a shaky breath. He wished that made him feel better. _He sounded so scared. I wasn't there when he called. _

Al shuddered, looking around the dark shed distastefully. "Shit, we need to get out of this place." He squeezed his injured leg, hissing. "C'mon, Hell, stitch me up faster."

Dean made another worthless effort to swallow the lump in his throat and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Do... do you think Matty's gonna... "

"I don't think so, Dean. After the hounds were done, there wouldn't have been much left to stitch up." Al caught the look on Dean's face and tried to soften his gruff voice. "He's... probably woken up somewhere else in Hell."

"And we don't know where?" Dean choked out.

"Far as I can tell, no pattern. And I have no idea how big Hell is."

Dean hugged his legs to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. Matty was alone in Hell again, and Dean had no way of finding him. But anything else wandering the abyss could. _Demons would have done some nasty things to a kid like that._

Time passed, Dean's body ached, and he tried his best not to think about what would happen to Matty without him there to stop it.

.

Al made a soft grunt when his leg twitched. "F-fuck, this isn't working... Dean, could I trouble you to shove this bone back in place? I think Hell's having some difficulty fixing it."

Dean looked up, relieved by the distraction. "Yeah. Sure." He stepped over to Al and knelt down next to him, swallowing at the sight of the shattered bone.

"Fuck, Al, I've set some bones before, but never one this bad."

"S'okay, all you gotta do is shove it back in the proper vicinity." Al was already clenching his teeth in preparation. "Just kinda... get it buried back in the meat, wouldja?"

Dean nodded, bracing himself. "On three?"

Al nodded.

"One." Dean shoved as hard as he could. Al's head thumped back against the wall and he let out a groaning scream. Dean pulled his hands back, shaking the blood off them, staring at the mess of bone and skin and muscle that was Al's leg. "Shit... I'm pretty damn sure we just made it worse."

Al was gritting his teeth, eyes shut tight. "Don' worry, you did what you had to. It'll fix itself up soon enough."

Dean nodded, sitting back on his haunches, watching Al twitch and curse quietly and try to ignore the pain. After a few moments he leaned on the wall next to Al, their shoulders just barely touching. He found Al's hand and gave it a squeeze, and Al squeezed back gratefully.

"Not tryin' to be weird," Dean muttered. "Just... you know... "

"No, I get it," Al choked out. He rolled his head to the side, giving Dean a look. "Any fuckin' comfort you can get down here's worth it, right?" He gave Dean's hand another squeeze. "S'all that's left, really."

Dean nodded, and they sat in silence after that. Dean squeezed Al's hand again whenever the oppressive shadows of the shack started to close in on his mind.

.

" ... I think I can stand."

Dean was on his feet before he realized it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Al took Dean's outstretched hand, hissing in pain when Dean tugged him to his feet. He staggered for a moment, but managed to stay upright. "All right," he panted. "Let's try this."

"I'll boost you," Dean offered. "You can barely stand - "

"S'fine, you'd never lift me." Al managed a strained chuckle. "I'm heavier than I look. Here." Al dropped to one knee and clasped his hands together, making a place for Dean's foot.

Dean hesitated, then placed his foot in Al's hands. "All right, if you say so." He stared up at the door frame and bit his tongue, concentrating.

"Ready, Dean?"

"Yeah."

Al tried boost him and Dean made a lunge for the door. It fell short when Al faltered halfway through with a barked "_Shit_!" and collapsed to the ground, grabbing his leg. Dean toppled over and the floor broke under his outstretched arm.

"Fuck, how many layers has this thing got...?" Dean yanked his arm out of the jagged hole, staring into it. He lurched back, squirming across the floor. There was no pit below them. What his hand had broken into was an endless abyss of smoke and darkness and _chains, _yawning out beneath him into infinity.

Dean's face was pale. He scooted back from where he'd broken through the floor, trying to breathe air that Hell didn't have.

Al gave him a curious look, still a little breathless. "What?"

Dean just shook his head, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "We... we need to get out of here." He pulled himself onto his shaking legs, holding out his hand. "We gotta try again."

.

Dean grabbed the door frame successfully on the third try, wrenching himself up. He almost fell back in when he found himself standing in an oozing puddle of _Matty._

"Oh fuck no no no no _fuck... _" Dean staggered away, stomach twisting. He tried to look anywhere else. What was left wasn't so much a corpse as a _soup. _

It took Dean a few seconds to remember that Al was still in the shed, and a few more seconds to brace himself before stepping back into that puddle of gore so he could reach down and pull Al up.


	4. You're Dead

They got on their way as quickly as possible. Something about being in that still, silent shed for such a long time was making Dean feel twitchy. There was a slowly building need in the back of his mind to collapse to the ground and scream for a while. The sensation only lessened somewhat as they walked around in the open air. Figurative air, anyway.

"Is there some place we can go that's better than this?" Dean asked.

Al glanced at him uneasily. "That a joke? We're in Hell."

"Yeah, but isn't - " Dean rubbed a hand through his hair. "Just - fuck - some place that isn't actively _terrible_?" He gave Al an incredulous look. "What do you _do _down here? Do you just run forever, from one disaster to the next?"

Al gave him a sad look. Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to collect himself. His life had been a bit like running from one disaster to the next, after all.

"Do you have... I dunno, some sort of goal?"

"Less suffering. That's a goal."

Dean nodded. "Right. Well, now we have a new goal. I'm gonna find Matty."

Al chewed his lip for a moment, and then gave a nod. Dean got the distinct impression that Al was agreeing not because he thought it was possible, but because an impossible aim was better than no aim at all.

.

Everywhere they went, the sheds could be found, hulking like skeletons in the shadows of stones or amid tufts of black, oily grass. At least, Dean assumed it was grass. He didn't think he was ready to consider the thought that it might be hair on the skin of some giant monster.

Monster hair or hell plants or whatever, forms of ghastly vegetation were starting to show up more and more the further they went. Branching, porous growths sprung up out of the ground like rotten coral, drooping massive, wet leaves. When Dean brushed one by accident, it fell apart into slime on his shoulder, and he swiped it off with a wince. Slick, bubbling molds poured over rocks, some feet wide, orange or yellow-green or greasy black. Rough grass with blades like razors grew in thick, blue-grey clusters. There was no point even trying to walk through it, it would slice the skin off in seconds.

Between the dead foliage and the towering rocks, the landscape was a maze. Dean kept his eyes peeled for any sign of movement, but everything was so still it almost didn't look real. Like he and Al were the only things that could move.

So when Dean caught the sound of rustling foliage that he and Al weren't stepping through, his frozen heart clenched.

"What?" Al hissed.

Dean swallowed, his body tense. "I dunno. I thought... thought I heard something."

Al paled and stepped closer to Dean, his eyes scanning the dark landscape. The foliage was thick enough that it was hard to see far, hard to tell if something was close to them.

"Well well well, is that fresh blood I smell?"

Dean spun around. A woman was standing across a thicket of grass from him, grinning. Her eyes were like black fire and her whole body seemed to exude darkness. Dean knew without being told that she was a demon.

"Smells all new and tender," she purred, cocking her head slowly at him, pacing around the grass. "I bet you've still got the sweet taste of Up Top, don't you, baby?"

Dean started backing up, one arm thrust out to keep track of Al. He spun around again when he heard a laugh from behind him.

"This isn't just any new bloodbag, Báthory." This one was a man, tall and dark, and the look in his fiery eyes was a frothing mix of hatred and anticipation. "No, I think I've seen this one before."

Báthory rolled her head to the side, auburn hair falling over her shoulder. "Pardon, Gilles, but weren't you were last Up Top for a grand handful of hours? Exactly how many humans did you see in that time?"

"Just two," Gilles ground out, piercing Dean with his eyes.

Dean swallowed, looking for some place to run. He didn't need Al to tell him that there was no point in fighting a demon in Hell. _No point in fighting demons, no point in fighting hellhounds, no point fighting anything._

Gilles' burning eyes wouldn't leave Dean. "What was the last thing you said to me? Oh, I remember... " He trailed his finger along a moldy rock as he paced, leaving a charred line. "_Burn in Hell_."

Báthory laughed, and the sound made Dean's stomach clench. "My, is this the hunter that sent you back, Gilles?"

"One of the two." Gilles ran a thumb over his mouth thoughtfully, looking Dean over. "Too bad the other's not here... You and me will have to work double time, won't we, boy?"

Al grabbed Dean's arm. "Get ready to run," he hissed.

"Really, Gilles? Isn't he a little old for you?"

"I'll make an exception." Gilles nipped his lip, looking Dean over. "I won't even mind. He's got a baby face, this one."

Báthory stepped around a dead, spongy tree, walking closer to them. "I've never bathed in hunter blood before... "

Al yanked Dean's arm, and that was all the cue he needed. He tore off between the towering stalks of rot, dodging tufts of razor grass. He could hear demon laughter behind him, hear pursuing footsteps.

"Run, little princess!" That was Báthory's voice. "Get your dead blood oozing for us!"

_Find a shack, find a shack, find a shack... _ Dean couldn't believe he was about to run into one of those things _again, _after what happened last time, but what choice did he have?

"There!" Al was pointing. One of the dark, awful things was hunkering on the crest of a shallow cliff, its open door gaping like a mouth. Dean clenched his teeth and tried to run faster. He'd have to scale that cliff _fast._

"You can cut him up when I'm done, Báthory! I want that pretty body _intact. _At least for the first round."

Al reached the cliff first, grabbing onto a root and wrenching himself up. The root tore loose under the pressure of his foot and he almost fell off, pulling himself onto the ledge at the last minute.

Dean tried to scramble up the cliff and slipped in the rocky scree. He reached a hand up, panting. "Al!"

Al leaned over the side, extending a strong arm. Dean made a grab for it, and Al's fingers danced out of the way.

He cocked his head at Dean, and a faint smile touched his face. "Whoops."

Dean's chest tightened. He blinked, mouth open. Then a fierce hand grabbed his hair and yanked him back, and Dean's stomach dropped.

"C'mere, fucktoy."

For a second, Dean couldn't even move, trying to process what was happening. He was ripped out of his state of shock when a fist crashed into his gut and brought him to the ground. The ash in his mouth tasted like rotting food.

"He's pretty for a boy. Got those lovely green eyes."

A savage blow pounded into his ribs, and Dean heard something crack. He rolled over with a pained groan, trying to pull away from the blows.

"Wait your turn, Báthory."

"I'd like to put him in a pretty dress." Dean was yanked into a sitting position by his hair, and he found himself staring up at Báthory. She bit her lip, giving Dean's hair a painful tug. "Slice him open and stain it red. Pretty bleeding princess."

A hand ran over his thigh. Dean tried to grab it, shove it off, but Báthory wrenched his arms behind his back, pulling him up against her while he struggled.

"Uh uh uh, princess," she whispered in his ear. "You will have to behave. The sooner Gilles has his fun, the sooner I get to have mine."

"Let _go_!" Dean wrenched against Báthory's hold, flinching when Gilles spread his legs and slotted himself between them. He leaned over Dean and grinned.

"Remember me yet? I remember you. The infamous hunter _Dean Winchester_." He grabbed Dean's chin, hard. "I was about to come _back. _I was about to feel a real child squirming in my hands for the first time in _centuries._" He cocked his head to the side, sneering. "And then you and that brother of yours had to show up. Really ruined my day."

"Gilles de Rais," Dean bit out. He was shaking, chest heaving with the need for air. "Yeah, I remember you. The kid-killer."

Gilles' tongue poked out between his teeth. "I've got a lot of lost time to make up for, boy. And it looks like you're the only one around who can help me." He pressed one finger against the waistline of Dean's tattered, grimy pants. Dean squirmed when a painful heat started to build on Gilles' fingertip. It grew until it was a scorching burn, charring his pants and making his skin blister. Dean clenched his teeth hard, trying not to scream. Gilles dragged his finger down Dean's leg, leaving the fabric in crumbled ash and Dean's skin a sore red where he passed.

"Can't wait to make you cry, Dean. Cry like a little boy."

"G-go to Hell!" The words flew out of him by habit, and he didn't realize how pointless they were until after he'd said them.

Báthory laughed in his ear. "Are you as stupid as you are pretty?"

"Must be, to land himself in here." Gilles burned a line down Dean's other leg, ruining his pants and making him twist in pain. "You haven't made a lot of friends downstairs, boy."

Gilles tore Dean's charred pants away from his body and Dean tried to lurch away with a frightened noise. _No, wait, not there - _Gilles grabbed Dean's hair and pulled his head to the side, exposing his neck, licking a wet stripe up it. Dean clenched his teeth and cringed, insides twisting.

"Don't fucking touch me," he choked out.

Gilles just laughed and slipped a hand between Dean's legs. Dean choked down a terrified yelp. He yanked at Báthory's arms, trying to pull free, trying to stop the hand that was roughly feeling his body -

"What do you think happens to hunters who go to Hell?" Gilles snarled, biting at Dean's lip, holding his hair so he couldn't pull away.

Dean's stomach felt like it was turning inside out. His lungs burned for air. His head was dizzy and he couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't stop this -

_Can't fight anything in Hell. Can't fight anything._

Dean closed his eyes and tried to choke out Al's name in one last plea for help before two fingers shoved into him.

.

He promised himself he wouldn't scream. He broke that promise first. Then he broke his promise not to cry. He had almost made it through when he started to beg.

Dean was shaking uncontrollably by the time it was over, his face wet with tears. He could feel something thick and slimy oozing out of his body, dripping onto the ground, and it made his stomach heave.

"You look better like this, boy."

Dean turned his face away, biting his lip. Gilles wouldn't let him close his legs, holding them open so everything was exposed.

There was a crunch, as of feet landing on the gravely ground. Dean tore his eyes up and blinked as Al crouched down next to him. Smiling. Vaguely, he registered that Gilles was giving Al a confused look, like he'd never seen him before.

"Dean, Dean," Al began, looking over Dean's naked body with mild curiosity before returning his eyes to Dean's red face. "Did you really think Hell was some apocalyptic playground for you to roam at your leisure? You're in my sandbox, freckles. Have been since you arrived."

Dean swallowed, willing his voice to remain steady. "You're a demon, aren't you?" he choked out.

Al tilted his head and smiled, eyes pooling over with black. "What gave me away?"

Dean groaned, twisting at Gilles' hold on his legs, trying to close them. He trembled when he couldn't move them, fighting down another sob. "Was _anything_ you told me true?" he demanded.

Al gave Dean a sad smile, then reached out and tilted his chin up gently. "My name really _is _Al," he offered helpfully.

Báthory grunted and shifted her grip on Dean. "Didn't realize we were in your corner of Hell, Alastair."

Al waved off her comment. "Oh, no trouble at all." He rose to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back and looking Dean over. He smiled. "Why don't you two finish your fun? I don't think Dean has been properly welcomed to Hell yet."

Dean's throat tightened. He heard a soft chuckle and Báthory's hand wrapped around his neck, giving it a squeeze. Al turned around, walking away, and Dean tensed.

"W-wait, don't - "

"I'll be back later." Al waved his hand in a flourish, not looking back. "Clean up when you're done, children."

There were fresh tears starting to run down Dean's cheeks when Báthory gave his ear a bite and hissed, "My turn."


	5. The Pains

"Rise and shine, freckles."

Dean groaned and lifted his heavy head, blinking. A bolt of deja vu hit him as he realized he was spread-eagled, each arm and each leg being tugged in a different direction. Suspended. The next sensation he registered was that of rough wood against his naked body, digging into his back and legs and ass. Al stood in front of him, smiling sweetly. Holding a knife.

_No, not Al. Alastair. Demon._

Dean groaned, wishing he could run a hand over his throbbing head. The jagged landscape of Hell was gone, just him and Alastair in this hot, stone room.

"Báthory got a tad carried away." Alistair looked over Dean's naked body with mild disappointment. "We had to get a new corpse for you. The old one was just no good."

Dean swallowed. His throat was so dry. "I thought... I'd be somewhere random... "

Alastair chuckled and knocked the hilt of his knife against Dean's forehead, none too gently, making Dean's head ring. "You're not _listening, _freckles. My sandbox, my rules."

"But how - "

"Sh." Alastair held the knife up to Dean's lips. "No no no, can't just talk without permission like that, freckles. You need to give me something in return." He twirled the knife. "Would you like to purchase a question?"

Dean stared between Alastair's face and the knife. He swallowed. "What will it cost me?"

"My my, that was a question." Alastair tapped the knife gently against Dean's chest.

Dean blinked at him for a moment, another question forming on his lips. The his chest started to itch in the spot that Alastair had tapped - like a wriggling under his skin. Dean squirmed in his shackles, trying to pull a hand free so he could scratch it, rub the tickling away. It was maddening, like a feather caught under his skin, flicking against his muscle. Then came the first throb of pain, a keen, sharp spark, and Dean gasped. He almost bit his tongue off when he saw a faint twitch of _movement_ under his skin.

"What did you _do_?" he shouted.

Alastair frowned and shook his head slowly. "Stupid, stupid Dean. You're lucky I'm such a gentle demon. I'll give you that question for free, but no more."

Dean clenched his teeth and whined, struggling on the rack. The movement under his skin became a growing bulge the size of a grain of rice, worming around in his flesh. Dean was screaming curses by the time it swelled to the width of a finger. Finally there was a sharp pinching and then a dribble of hot blood down his chest. Dean almost started dry heaving right there on the rack when he glanced down and saw the fat, pale head of a maggot poking out of his burst skin.

"To answer your question," Alastair remarked, watching as the maggot wriggled free of Dean's body and fell twitching to the floor, "_that _is what a question costs you. I am, of course, answering the question you paid for, not the one you rudely decided to steal." He shook his knife at Dean and Dean cringed back. "Very naughty of you, Dean."

Dean nodded, his face pale.

"Now." Alastair crossed his arms and smiled. "Would you like to ask another question?"

Dean swallowed and thought. At length he nodded.

Alastair spread his arms. "Ask."

"How much of this is real?" Dean stammered out quickly.

Alastair's arms dropped in disappointment. "Oh, _terrible _use of a question. But, you asked, so I'll answer."

Dean couldn't keep his eyes off the maggot that was crawling in rippling waves across the stone floor, leaving a sticky trail of his blood. Alastair raised the knife and Dean whimpered, pressing back against the rack.

"You were good this time, Dean. You waited until you were allowed to speak before asking a question. So I'll let you pick: where do you want it?"

Dean chewed his lip, shaking. At length he looked away, shutting his eyes. " ... Chest."

"Chest it is." Alastair tapped Dean's pectoral, and in a few seconds the itching began again.

"Now, is any of this real?" Alastair stared upwards thoughtfully as Dean squirmed. "Real is... such an unhelpful word where Hell is concerned. You're a real soul, Dean, and you really suffer. I'm a real demon, and I really... well." Alastair smiled as Dean choked down a scream. "I guess you know what I do."

The maggot was bulging under his skin. He could feel it twisting against the muscle, chewing at it, trying to find a way out. A scream slipped out through Dean's teeth when the grub burst out of him and fell with a wet plop to the floor.

Alastair gestured at the squirming maggot proudly. "Well, there's that question done! Maybe you've got a more specific one?"

Dean swallowed, head bowed, shaking. "Was... was Matty real?"

"Ah, better." Alastair twirled the knife. "Where do you want it?"

"Chest," Dean muttered.

Alastair tsked. "We've already done chest twice." He twirled the knife again before tapping the tip against Dean's cheek. Dean twisted his head away, his dead heart clenching, but not fast enough.

"You're wondering if Matty was a real soul," Alastair prompted, "or if he's just another sandcastle in my sandbox, right?"

Dean bit his lip hard, whining quietly as his face started to itch, then throb.

Alastair's fingers found Dean's chin. "Answering my questions is free, Dean," he murmured gently.

"Yes," Dean gasped out. "Yes, that's what I'm asking."

Alastair smiled and ran his fingers down Dean's jaw as the maggot swelled under his skin. "Oh yes, Dean, Matty was a real soul. I borrowed him for my purposes, but his actions were his own." He brushed his thumb over Dean's lips, speaking softly. "He really _was_ just a kid lost in Hell. And he really _did _grow fond of you." Alastair cocked his head. "And you really _did _let him down, Dean."

Dean closed his eyes and choked down a pained groan. The maggot was twisting under his skin, pulsing as it grew. He could feel the bulge bumping against his teeth as it wiggled.

Alastair stepped back, and Dean gasped as the maggot broke out of his face and fell onto Alastair's boot. Alastair gently tilted his foot, rolling the tiny creature onto the ground with the others.

"Another question?" he prompted.

"Where's Matty now?" Dean panted.

Alastair tsked. "Bad question, but not your fault." He raised his knife. "Where?"

"Arm," Dean responded quickly. He swallowed when the blade tapped against the inside of his elbow.

"It's a bad question," Alastair explained, "because I do not know. _You're_ my project, freckles, not that gnat. He died, he manifested in a new place, I don't know where." Alastair shrugged.

The growing maggot was twisting against the veins in Dean's arm, tugging on them. He shook on the rack, trying not to squirm. "Can you find out?" he gasped before he could realize his mistake.

Alastair let out a slow breath through his nose. "Dean. You were doing so well." He tapped the knife two more times on Dean's arm. "I have to charge extra for that."

Dean whined, trying to jerk his arm out of its shackle as two more maggots started wiggling under his skin.

"Yes," Alastair replied crisply, "I could find out, if I were so inclined. But I think you know, Dean, that I am _not _so inclined."

Dean hissed in pain as the first maggot ripped out of his arm, snapping a blood vessel as it went. The other two were still burrowed in his flesh, squirming.

Alastair grabbed Dean's face, leaning close. "You ought to count your blessings that I'm not interested in Matty, _Dean_," he whispered, teeth bared. "I might be tempted to tell Gilles where he is. Gilles would like that."

Dean's chest tightened. "P-please, don't - "

"Well, if you don't mention him again, I'm sure I'll forget." Alastair gave him a grin, letting go of Dean's face to trail fingers down his chest. "Do you understand?"

The maggots burst one by one out of Dean's arm. He shuddered and nodded.

Alastair stroked his face again. "Out loud, Dean."

"Yes," he panted.

"Good, good." Alastair gave his cheek a gentle pat. "Now, do you have any more questions?"

Dean felt sick. The open wounds ached, and the wiggling pile of maggots on the floor kept making his stomach heave. " ... No. I d-don't have any more questions."

"Oh. Pity." Alastair tapped the knife against his untouched cheek. Dean flinched back in surprise, eyes wide.

"B-but I didn't - "

"Don't," Alastair cut off sharply, "make the mistake of thinking you can steer this little game, Dean. My sandbox, my rules." He ran his hand through Dean's hair as a tiny maggot started to wriggle in Dean's cheek. "Have you learned this lesson, Dean? Tell me if you have. The faster you learn, the less it hurts."

Dean whimpered as the maggot swelled in his skin. It _burned_ - he could feel his flesh ripping to make room for it. He tried to choke out words. "That's a lie, nothing I do makes it hurt less."

A look of something like pride spread across Alastair's face. "Oh, freckles. Maybe you're not as dumb as you look." He brushed his thumb over the wiggling bulge on Dean's face and Dean screamed. "Perhaps I _can_ teach you."

The grub burst through the inside of Dean's cheek suddenly, landing with a splash of blood on his tongue, wiggling wildly. Dean doubled over and spat it out as hard as he could, his insides writhing. The bloody maggot twisted on the floor before finding its feet and rippling across the smooth stones. Dean heaved, staring down on it, blood dripping from his mouth.

"Sam's going to save me," he blurted out suddenly.

For one long, terrible moment, Alastair didn't say a word. The cold silence of Hell started to crawl in Dean's ears, pressing against his face. Then Alastair took Dean's chin in his hand and tilted it up, making Dean look at him. Dean swallowed, waiting for Alastair to say something, to stop looking at him like that. When he felt cold, sharp steel drag in a gentle line down the length of his cock, he lurched.

"You shouldn't have thought about that, Dean," Alastair murmured.

There was a faint, telltale itch in his cock. Dean started to shake. "No... no no no no, please... "

Alastair stepped back a few paces, not pulling his cold, piercing stare away from Dean. He raised the knife slowly and dropped it, letting it clatter on the floor amid the crawling maggots. "Why don't you think about what you've done?" he said softly. And with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing through the dark stone door.

There was a tickling line from the base to the head of Dean's cock, many little spots of wriggling itchiness buried in his flesh. Dean jerked frantically against the shackles, fighting down a sob.

"I'm sorry!" he called to the darkness and the smoldering stone walls. "I'm sorry, please!"

When the first throb of pain came, Dean stopped being able to find words.


	6. The Angle

Dean hung limp in the shackles. The entire back half of his body was chaffed from thrashing against the rough wood of the rack. One of the maggots had found his leg and was creeping in little slimy ripples up it, exploring. Dean barely felt it, everything else hurt too much.

Blood dripped from his slack mouth, making little red splatters on his chest, and it was starting to ooze out from under the manacles too. He'd struggled so hard he'd ground right through the skin, and he thought he'd heard his wrist break at some point. It ached fiercely. But most of the blood that splattered in a growing pool on the floor - smearing as the maggots wiggled through it - was dripping from his cock. He kept his eyes closed so he didn't have to look at it.

Dean felt a warm, gentle hand against his chin. After so much pain, he let out a groan at the soft touch. His eyes blinked open slowly and he found himself looking at Alastair.

"Would you like to get off the rack, Dean?" Alastair asked gently.

Dean swallowed. His tongue felt thick and his throat was sore from screaming. HIs voice came out pained and raspy. "I... I can't buy it, please... I'm sorry... "

"Sh, Dean, it's okay." Alastair's hand cupped his face and Dean leaned into it gratefully, relieved to not have to hold his head up. "The price for this one is simple. You just have to ask. That's all, Dean, just ask me to take you down and I'll do it."

Dean stiffened, biting his lip. This was a trap. It had to be. But he didn't know how to avoid it. He settled for keeping his mouth shut, as opening it only seemed to get him in trouble.

"Do you want to come off the rack, Dean?"

"No," Dean panted quickly, trembling.

"No?" Alastair cocked his head. "You don't?" He ran his hand down Dean's chest, fingering one of the holes where a maggot had burst from him. Dean choked in shock and pain. "So you're enjoying this? You want more?"

"No, no, please!"

"You're _not_ enjoying this?" Alastair frowned, offended. "Is my company so unpleasant, Dean?"

"No, don't leave - I just - " Dean bowed his head, shaking. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just tell me what you want... "

Alastair lifted Dean's face again. "All I want is to know whether or not you want to come off the rack, Dean."

Dean swallowed. His chest pulsed with pain where Alastair had roughly handled his wound. " ... Yes," he whispered. "Yes, please, take me down."

Alastair smiled and wiped the blood off Dean's mouth. "There you go. That's all you had to do."

Alastair knelt down, disappearing from Dean's vision. Dean's head lolled to the side and he let his eyes close, trying to ignore the burning spots of pain all over his body. He moaned out loud when he felt the first shackle fall away from his bloody ankle. He brought his leg down to the floor, letting his foot lie flat on it, stretching the sore muscle. It was almost surreal to be supporting his weight, not strung up and helpless. Alastair brushed the maggot off his other leg before unshackling it as well, and then Dean could stand on two feet.

Alastair stood up, his hands on Dean's waist. "How does that feel?"

Dean's head spun. _Solid ground under his feet. _He nodded dumbly, unable to form words. Alastair gave a small chuckle and started unlocking the shackles on his arms. When they were both free, Dean staggered, and Alastair had to catch him and hold him upright.

"Sh, sh, Dean... "

There was a soothing hand in his hair, stroking it. Dean lay limp in Alastair's arms, eyes closed, making a soft noise of relief. His body still hurt everywhere, but he was _off the rack. _He could _stand, _he could _move. _He didn't even mind that Alastair's hands were on him, one on his hip and one on the back of his neck, avoiding his chaffed-raw back. It was warm skin against his and he'd take that over a blade any day. _Any fuckin' comfort you can get down here's worth it._

"Would you like to sit down?"

He did, he really did, but the thought of his bloodied back and ass touching something made him cringe.

"Oh, no, of course you don't. I bet I know what'll make it better."

Dean made a low murmur, not wanting to form words, not wanting to move from this position. He was herded back slowly, and he staggered in an attempt to keep up. When Alastair turned him around, he was facing a table.

"Go on." Alastair took one of Dean's hands and laid it on the table. "Lie down."

Dean ran his hand over the smooth surface. It was nothing like the rough, splintering wood of the rack. Leather had been stretched over this table, and under Dean's shaking hands it might as well have been silk pillows. He leaned forward slowly, not quite trusting his shaking limbs, before letting his chest lie flat on the smooth surface. He let out a groan as it took some of the weight off his legs, letting him just rest. The wounds on his chest still burned, but it was worth it.

"There." Alastair's hands ran down his sides, resting on his hips. "I bet that's better, isn't it, freckles?"

Dean nodded, eyes closed. Alastair pressed his fingers gingerly to the torn skin of Dean's back, and Dean cringed.

"Poor poor Dean, that pretty body all ripped up. Do you want me to make your pain go away, Dean?"

Dean nodded again. At this point, he was ready to accept anything that didn't make the hurt come back.

Alastair's hands rested on his shoulders, and Dean let out a loud groan of relief as the pain on his shoulders dimmed and finally vanished. Alastair's hands slid down his back, leaving smooth, unbroken skin in their wake. They stitched the torn skin up where they passed, cleaning up the blood, fishing out thick, woody splinters that had lodged themselves in Dean's flesh while he writhed. It was a wave of relief, slowly washing down his body. Dean buried his face in his arms and relaxed completely under the touches, making soft noises of pleasure by the time Alastair got to his lower back. He felt Alastair squeezing his ass as the demon's hands passed over it. Dean buried his face deeper in his arms but didn't say anything, didn't move, just held still and let Alastair grope him. But Alastair moved on after that, working down Dean's legs, healing all the torn skin as he went, right down to his bloody ankles.

"Now the arms," Alastair prompted, standing up.

Dean held his arms out, looking over his shoulder. Alastair continued his ministrations, stroking down each of Dean's arms, cleaning up the bloodied skin. When the arms were done, he ran his knuckles over Dean's cheek, and the hole made by the maggot filled up and disappeared.

"There," he said gently. "That's your pretty body all sewn up again." He looked Dean over and his eyebrows pursed. "Oh, but I'm forgetting a big one, aren't I?"

Dean was confused for a moment. Then Alastair nudged his legs apart, gently touching his bloody cock. Dean shut his eyes and hissed as a burst of pain exploded between his legs, shooting right up into his belly and twisting there.

"This poor thing's barely hanging on," Alastair murmured with sympathy. He wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the base of Dean's cock, and slowly pulled down. Dean tensed at first, expecting a wave of agony, but he relaxed as Alastair's fingers knit up his torn flesh. He closed his eyes again, losing himself in the sensations of Alastair's hand running over him, putting him back together, making his pain melt away. Each pass of Alastair's hand felt better than the last, left him more whole. By the time all the damage had been undone, Dean was hard in Alastair's hand, moaning a little with each stroke, lifting his hips up. Alastair's free hand returned to his ass, running over it.

"It's so much better when you behave, isn't it, Dean?"

Dean nodded, groaning when Alastair squeezed his cock, keeping his face buried in his arms. His cheeks were flushing red and he knew this was wrong but he couldn't make himself stop it, not when the pain was _finally _gone for the first time in he didn't know how long...

Alastair's fingers ran down the crease of his ass. Dean bit his lip and shivered. The fingers left for a moment and a second later they were back, slick, touching his hole. Dean shut his eyes tighter and whined, fists clenching. His cock was still hard in Alastair's hand, oozing precome. His body felt shivery and good and there was some part of him that wanted to press back against Alastair's fingers, to just be safe and taken care of and to not have it hurt anymore. Another part of him was so terrified of what was about to happen that he couldn't move. He tried his best to ignore where this was going, tried to pretend Alastair was just making him feel better, nothing else. But when he felt something blunt and thick nudging against his slick hole, pushing against it, he couldn't take it anymore and he squirmed his hips away.

"Wait," he panted. "Not that. Please. I - I don't want that."

Alastair was silent for a moment. Then his hands pulled away from Dean's body. Dean didn't have time to let out a breath of relief before he was being pulled to his feet.

"You're not allowed to say no, Dean," Alastair told him sadly.

Dean swallowed. "I... I just... I just don't want that, please... "

Alastair shook his head, tugging on Dean's arm and dragging him forward. "Come on. Back on the rack."

Dean went pale and he yanked against Alastair's grip. "N-n-no, no, please - "

"You need to learn, Dean."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll do it! I'll do whatever you want!" _Shouldn't have said anything, should have just shut up and let him fuck you -_

"Hush, come on now."

Dean squirmed and kicked but it was like fighting a brick wall. Alastair pushed him up against the rack and started strapping him back on, hushing him when he shouted. Dean sobbed when Alastair stepped back to admire his work, hands twisting in the rough shackles. The wood was still damp with his blood; he could feel it against his back.

"Such a shame, freckles." Alastair's fingers trailed over the heavy length of his cock, making Dean shiver. "I could have made you feel so good."

"I'm sorry," Dean repeated, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to keep the sobs out of it. "I'm sorry, I won't say no again, please take me down - "

"Oh, I can't now." Alastair stepped back from Dean, smiling. "We're about to have a guest."

Dean blinked. A few seconds later his unspoken question was answered as footsteps approached. Another demon stepped through the dark door of the dungeon, giving him a crooked smile as she walked towards them.

"Hello, Dean," she purred. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I believe you two have met before." Alastair walked over to the new demon, brushing a lock of hair tenderly behind her ear. "You knew her as Meg."

Dean swallowed. He tried to press himself harder against the rack as Meg sauntered up to him, slipping a knife out of her belt.

"Oh Dean, what I wouldn't have given to get you like this Up Top." She trailed her knife gently over Dean's still-hard cock, and he winced. "All strung up and ready. Is he really all for me, Alastair?"

Alastair rested his hands on Meg's shoulders, smiling against her ear, looking over Dean's shaking body. "Make me proud, Meg. I'll be back later."

Dean tensed. "D-don't leave, please - "

Meg grabbed his face, pressing her knife against his throat. "Stop groveling, Dean, or I'll find out what strangled little noises you make after I carve out your trachea."

Dean whined, yanking at the cuffs. His skin was already starting to chafe again where the rough metal ground into them. Alastair was walking away, heading for the door, but Dean didn't have the chance to beg him again because Meg's knife slipped across his belly in a flash and the wet sound of his intestines hitting the floor choked off any words he might have spoken.

.

Dean sort of hoped it would be over when a quiet darkness finally overcame the sound of Meg's mocking voice and the gooey squelches of his remaining body parts being sliced up. When he woke gasping on the rack a few seconds later, body whole and untouched, he remembered he wasn't allowed to die.

"Look at you, all cleaned up for me again. Shall we continue?"

Dean had forgotten how loud he could scream when his throat wasn't sore or outright missing. He learned again when Meg slipped her knife slowly into his gut and squeezed the hilt until it glowed cherry red. Dean's wrists and ankles were bleeding again in seconds from his struggles.

"Sh, Meg, that's enough."

Through his thrashing and his agony, some part of Dean perked up at the sound of that voice. Then the knife was pulled out of his stomach and he collapsed against the rack, shaking, choking on the smell of his own body cooking. The next thing he knew, there was a hand cupping his face, a familiar hand, and Dean pressed into the touch eagerly, blinking his eyes open.

Alastair was giving him a warm smile. "Would you like to come off the rack, Dean?"

Dean nodded, licking his lips. "Yes, yes sir."

"There's a little thing I'll need you to do this time. But don't worry, it won't be hard."

Dean nodded again, feeling dizzy. "I'll do it, I promise."

"Good." Alastair pressed his hand over the wound in Dean's stomach, quenching the flow of blood. The wound started healing from the inside out, Dean's guts being put back in place, the charred flesh giving way to healthy, untouched muscle. Dean groaned, his eyes fluttering closed. The pain seeped out with the blood until finally even the skin closed up, leaving nothing but a warm, tingling comfort and Alastair's hand on his skin. Dean's cock had stiffened under the treatment; it was hard and swollen by the time the demon was done. Alastair slid his hand down and stroked it, watching Dean groan with pleasure. He continued to touch it while he knelt down and took off the cuffs on Dean's ankles. When Alastair stood up and unshackled his arms, Dean stepped forward quickly, pressing into Alastair's hand.

"I won't say no this time," he promised breathlessly.

Alastair held Dean's chin and placed a kiss on his forehead. "I know you won't."

His hand left Dean's cock, and a second later the cold hilt of a knife was pressed into Dean's palm.

"Just one thing you need to do first, Dean."

Dean blinked. Alastair smiled and tapped a finger against Dean's mouth in a gesture for him to wait. Then he stepped back and stood behind Meg, holding her upper arms. Meg was looking away, her body tense.

"I need you to shove that knife into her, Dean," Alastair murmured. "Can you do that for me?"

Dean looked Meg over for a moment, squeezing the knife in his hand.

Then he stabbed her.

Twenty six times.


	7. The Love And

The vaulted stone ceiling spun above him. Dean didn't mind at all. He blinked at it sleepily, lying on his back on the table. The leather surface was wet with blood under his naked body. But the blood wasn't his_. _Hot and sticky on his skin, but not his.

His belly was sticky with something else.

"I have to say, freckles, you're really living up to all my hopes."

Dean rolled his head to the side so he could look at Alastair. The demon danced his fingers lightly down Dean's chest, dabbing them through Meg's blood.

"You could make me proud, Dean," Alastair murmured, giving Dean half a smile. "If you were willing to earn it."

Dean wasn't sure what to say to that. He knew he wanted to keep Alastair happy with him, more than he wanted just about anything.

Alastair sat up on the table. "How would you like to never go back on the rack, Dean?"

Dean's dead heart clenched. He licked his lips, nodding fervently.

"Would you be willing to behave?"

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"You would have to help me with my work, Dean. But you'll be so good at it, I can tell." He brushed his hand down Dean's neck. "It's not every day I get to teach someone like you."

The praise poured into him like whiskey, warming him from the inside out. Dean wasn't even sure what he was being praised for, but it didn't matter.

"Roll over for me, Dean."

Dean did so obediently, crossing his arms and resting his head on them. The metallic smell of blood was everywhere, filling his nostrils. He closed his eyes and let out a noise of bliss when Alastair began rubbing the knots out of his sore shoulders.

"Did it feel good to cut her, Dean?"

Dean chewed his lip, not sure how to answer. Alastair kissed between his shoulder blades and he relaxed.

"You can tell me anything, Dean. And... she _did _deserve it after what she did to you."

"Yes," Dean murmured, groaning as Alastair's massaging hands worked down his back. "Yes, I - I liked it."

"Would you like to do it again, Dean? That's all you'd have to do to stay off the rack."

"Yes." Dean's answer came without hesitation. "Yes, I'd do it again." Alastair's thumbs were rubbing in firm circles on his lower back, soothing the tension from his muscle.

"But would you _like _to, Dean?" The massage felt so good, it was like the fatigue of never sleeping was finally easing off... "Your hand on the knife, guiding each little cut, letting all that tension just _pour _out of you... " Alastair's hands kneaded Dean's relaxed muscles and he groaned. "Think about it; blood gushing at your command, Dean. Skin ripping when _you _rip it. Is that something you would enjoy?"

The blood was sticky under him; it was all he could smell. He remembered it spurting out of Meg, the noises she made. Noises _he _caused. Dean groaned and rocked his hips forward against the wet table, starting to stiffen again. "Yeah, yeah, I'd like that."

"Exacting a little violence on someone who really _deserves _it... " Alastair purred against Dean's bloody back as his hands worked down, over Dean's ass, down his legs. "Really _punishing _them. The feeling of flesh giving under your blade... "

Dean grunted and rocked his hips forward again, his cock slipping over the bloody leather.

When Alastair had worked the last of the tension out of Dean's calves, he rolled Dean onto his back and crawled over him.

"Will you do it for me, freckles?"

"Yeah." Dean was panting. "Yeah, I'll do it."

Alastair smiled and scooted down the table, settling between Dean's legs. Dean felt warm breath on his cock, and his eyes fluttered closed and he moaned.

He felt strong, stronger than he could remember being since... well, since before the Chains.

Dean closed his eyes and just took a moment to flex every muscle in his body, reaching his arms above his head and groaning. The miracle of being whole and rested and uninjured made him feel lightheaded. And the ability to move his own feet, to decide where he walked, and to have the strength to do it... Even the choking nothing of Hell that filled his lungs didn't seem so bad, so sapping. He was learning to keep his lungs still.

Alastair led him out of the stone dungeon, away from the rack. Dean didn't look back as he followed, squeezing the knife that Alastair had placed in his hand.

A little flutter of panic lit up in Dean's chest when they walked into another room with a rack, but it eased when he realized there was already someone on it. The rack wasn't for him.

He was confused, though. He was expecting Meg. This woman wasn't even a demon.

Dean gave Alastair a lost look. Alastair squeezed his shoulder.

"Trust me, Dean. She deserves it." He turned to leave and Dean caught his arm.

"You're... you're not gonna stay?"

Alastair pulled Dean close. "I'll be back, Dean. I promise." He kissed Dean's forehead. "Make me proud."

Dean pressed into Alastair's touch. "I will, I will."

Alastair smiled and pulled away. Dean forced himself to let the demon go. Seeing Alastair leave made his throat tighten with panic, but if staying here alone was something Alastair wanted him to do, then he'd do it.

When Alastair was no longer in sight, Dean shuddered and turned to the woman on the rack. She was pretty, with brown hair falling over her shoulders and long lashes shadowing her cheeks. She was naked on the rack, lying limp on it, and seemed totally unaware of him. The sight of her bare body stirred some old memory in Dean, and he felt a little twitch between his legs.

He walked up to her apprehensively, not sure how to begin. There was a table sitting next to the rack, laid out with an array of nasty looking instruments, and a few things that looked organic. He looked at the girl again, his eyes running down her slim, pretty body. Maybe he should just start stabbing. The sooner he finished, the sooner Alastair would come back, right?

The woman made a little murmuring noise and lifted her head. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.

"You're... y-you're not a demon." She stared at him for a long time, as if to make sure, then made a breathless little laugh. "Holy f-fuck, you're not a demon. You're... you're a soul like me, aren't you? How did you - ? No, doesn't matter." She cleared her sore throat, looking around the room anxiously. "Please, do you think you can get me down from here?"

Dean took a step back. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.

"We can get out of here," the girl urged him. She chewed her pretty lip, tugging at her shackles. "We can leave before... before he gets back."

"Alastair?" Dean murmured.

The girl shuddered. "Yes, him. Come on, we have to leave before he gets back."

_Leave. Leave. Leave Alastair. _Dean's lip curled and his hand tightened over the hilt of the knife.

"He would always unlock the shackles with just his hands, I-I don't think there's a key - "

"I'm not leaving Alastair," Dean interrupted, his voice cold.

The girl stared at him blankly. Her voice was starting to break when she next spoke. "W-we have to, he's... he's g-gonna hurt us again... "

Dean shook his head, stepping closer. "He won't hurt me."

"Of c-course he will, he's a demon! Fuck, what did he tell you?" The girl yanked against her cuffs again, her big brown eyes starting to well up with tears. "Please, whatever he said, you can't believe him! He's a monster, he's lying to you - "

Dean's knife slammed into her, right through her gut, coming out the other side and stabbing the wood rack. Dean groaned at her scream, pressing himself up against her so he could feel her blood spurting onto him.

"He's not gonna hurt me," Dean whispered against her neck, twisting his knife in a slow circle and feeling her spasm under him. "He promised he wouldn't. Not as long as I keep up my end." He closed his eyes and pulled his knife out before thrusting it in again, shivering, taking a deep breath of the smell of blood. "He'll come back just like he promised... "

"P-p-please," the girl gasped, blood starting to drip from her mouth, staining it red. She fought down a sob, shuddering in pain, before choking out more words. "Listen, I d-don't know what he told you to make you help him, but he's not your friend. You have to believe me. D-don't let him control you like this - "

Her words needed to stop, they were scaring him, they were the kind of thing Alastair wouldn't want him to be thinking. Dean fumbled for anything on the table he could use as a gag, his hand closing around something that felt suspiciously like a bloody human vertebrae. He shoved it into her mouth without taking the knife out. Then he wrenched out the blade and shoved it between her breasts with a groan, hard cock twitching as her blood dripped onto it. She was crying, trying to scream. Dean grabbed her breast and squeezed, panting, wrenching his knife out with a twist. He jabbed it into her side, starting to smile at the way her body jerked when he heard a rib crack.

Dean let go of her breast to grab his blood-slick cock, slipping it between her legs and thrusting into her body before ripping his knife out and stabbing it into her throat with a groan.


	8. The Angel

Torture, as it turned out, was just like any other hobby. You got better with practice.

The intestines squished against Dean's hand as he rooted around in his victim's abdominal cavity. He reached up to brush the screaming boy's messy brown hair out of his hazel eyes.

Alastair told him he was getting better. Sometimes when Alastair was watching, he would give Dean this little smile, pat him on the shoulder, and walk out of the room. Because he knew Dean could handle it on his own.

Alastair was proud of him.

Dean grinned when he found a kidney. He wrapped his fingers around the slippery thing and ripped it from the blood vessels that streamed from it, getting tangled on an intestine before pulling free.

When the first echoes of barking hellhounds reached his ears, Dean didn't even look up from his work. They barked sometimes, he never knew what at. It wasn't any of his concern, his only job was to be a good predator and take people apart nice and slow. He was good at it. Alastair said so. He loved pleasing Alastair.

Dean dropped the boy's kidney onto the table and reached in to find the other one. One of the barking hellhounds kicked up into a high, screeching howl, and Dean paused for a moment, his hand still buried in intestines. A hint of unease was prickling at the back of his mind. The hounds sounded more frenzied than he'd ever heard them before, snarling and barking violently. Even for Dean, who feared nothing but Alastair's disapproval, the sound was alarming. But when the string of barks was cut off by a shrill yelp, Dean stiffened and pulled his hand out of the boy's guts, his chest tight.

One by one, the snarls of the hellhounds were being silenced by _something._

There was more commotion outside, and he could hear it getting closer. Screeching and screaming and cursing and something else entirely, something strange and wrong, clear and loud, like booming church bells. Dean's ears were starting to ring faintly. He was scared, things weren't supposed to change. Ignoring the sobbing boy on the rack, Dean stepped away from him and cautiously approached the dungeon door, tense, blood dripping from his hand. He peered outside. When someone grabbed his arm and yanked him around the corner, Dean shouted in alarm.

"Dean, I was afraid they'd already gotten you."

Dean relaxed in Alastair's arms. The familiar voice and touch and smell calmed him like nothing else could. But the ringing in his head was getting louder, and he could hear a noise like a hammer the size of a mountain striking a landscape of hot steel. It made him shake.

He grabbed Alastair's shoulders, smearing blood on them. "What's going on?"

Alastair wrapped an arm around Dean's waist and cupped his face, holding his gaze firmly. "The boogeymen are coming, Dean. They're trying to take you away."

Dean went pale. A flood of terror was pouring through his whole body, threatening to drown him.

"I need you to run, Dean. Just run and don't look back, don't let them find you."

Dean gripped Alastair tighter. "You'll find me, though, won't you?"

"Of course I will." Alastair pulled Dean into a deep kiss, and Dean hugged him tight, shaking. When they broke apart, he steeled himself and nodded.

"I'll run. I'll stay safe."

"Good." Alastair gave his cheek one more stroke, then stepped back. "Go, hurry."

Using all of his willpower, Dean tore himself away from Alastair and ran.

.

He bolted through caverns and caverns of torture chambers, down halls of hot stone and through dead, dark courtyards. He tried his best to stay ahead of the raging sound of violence, but it seemed to be getting closer all the time. _The boogeymen are coming. The boogeymen are coming._

The ringing in his ears was getting louder. Dean's body burned with a fear he hadn't known since before he learned to behave. _Just go away, just go away, just leave me alone..._

Dean skidded to a stop as he rounded a corner. There was a light coming from further down the hall, a cold blaze that hurt his eyes. The booming chimes were getting louder and louder behind him and he couldn't turn back. Dean ran into the nearest chamber. The bloody rack that stood in the center of the room was empty, and Dean ran behind it and pressed his back against the rough wood. He pulled a knife out of his belt and squeezed the hilt. No one was going to take him away from Alastair. He closed his eyes and counted slowly, listening, waiting.

Light like a star in the coldness of space filled the room, and Dean choked on something that felt like air. He squeezed the hilt harder, trying not to shake. _Stay safe for Alastair, he'll come find you, stay safe for Alastair..._

Suddenly a figure stood before him, made of the brightest, coldest light Dean had ever seen. Great, arcing wings stretched out from his back, wrapping around the room like claws, dwarfing it. Dean swallowed and almost dropped the knife.

"Dean Winchester." The voice was thunder in his chest, ripping through him. A hand as white-hot as molten metal stretched out. "I'm here to raise you."

Dean pressed back against the rack, clenching his teeth. "I d-don't want to go with you."

"This is not a choice. You need to be raised."

"Well, I don't want to be!" Dean lifted his knife when the being stepped closer. "Just go away, just leave me alone!"

The being cocked its head. " ... You can't hurt me with that knife, Dean Winchester."

Dean's whole body was shaking. He pressed himself back against the rack.

"G-go away, d-don't come any closer."

The being reached out again. "You're coming with me, Dean Winchester."

The hand gripped his shoulder, melting straight into the skin, and Dean screamed. He struggled as hard as he could, lashing out with the knife and trying to make contact with something, but it was like trying to slice wind. The room was dissolving around him, swallowed up by the chimes.

Dean tried to call for Alastair but he was choking on air. A massive, wrenching force pulled on his shoulder, almost ripping it from the socket, and Hell dropped away below Dean's feet.


End file.
